


Hereditary

by galerian_ash



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed III - Fandom
Genre: Canon Divergence, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor makes a different choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hereditary

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://nothingtrue.livejournal.com/235637.html), on LJ.

Connor had always taken care to stay calm and focused during fights. It was one of the very first things Achilles had taught him, after all; to never involve feelings, and remain detached no matter what. But now, crossing swords with Haytham, the advice was difficult to heed.

He'd like to blame the explosion, the way it was to blame for his sluggish body and hazy vision — but it'd only be another lie. One among many, some of which had crept into his mind so stealthily that he'd believed them to be true, only realizing their true nature when it was too late.

Perhaps it _was_ all about personal vengeance. The conviction that he'd left his people to protect them was almost impossible to still believe in; Kanen'tó:kon's death having exposed it for the hollow excuse it truly was. He remembered lying to the village elder about it — just as he remembered his own disapproval, long ago, of the white man's penchant for lies.

Still, if revenge was his true purpose, then so be it. He _would_ avenge his mother, or die trying, only... Only not at the expense of his father's life.

And so Connor went against everything he'd ever been taught, fighting with his heart instead of his head. He took care not to inflict any fatal wounds, and offered to spare Haytham's life if he'd just surrender. In the end, nothing he tried made any difference.

Haytham was crouching over him, like a deadlier copy of their first meeting. But neither this time did he deliver the killing blow. Curiosity could hardly be his reason still, could it? A flicker of hope rose in Connor, only to be extinguished when Haytham began strangling him.

It was pure instinct that raised his arm, hidden blade sliding out. He brought it to Haytham's throat, and...

And stopped.

The last words of Thomas Hickey echoed in Connor's mind. They had always stayed with him, seeming more a curse than anything else. Now, with his world closing in on him due to lack of air, their importance was suddenly made clear.

If he killed Haytham, the curse would come to pass — his hands would always be empty. What meaning did victory and peace hold, without someone to share it with? He cared for the people that dwelled on the homestead, he truly did, but that didn't mean he deluded himself into thinking that he'd ever have a deeper connection with any of them. They could never understand him or his way of life, not the way Haytham could. Deep down, beyond Assassin and Templar allegiances, they were the same.

Connor didn't want to lose that. He let his arm fall, leaving nothing behind except a brief whitening of skin, from where the blade had been pressed to Haytham's throat.

"You're a fool, son."

It was the last thing he heard, before oblivion claimed him.

\----

Whatever expectations Connor had held about the afterlife, it definitely wasn't the inn room he found himself waking up in.

It was a surprise to still be drawing breath, but the pain accompanying it made it very clear that he was indeed still alive. His hand moved to his aching ribs, only to find his torso bandaged. He'd been partly undressed as well — his weapons were lying on a chair next to the bed, placed within easy reach.

"Father...?"

Nothing but silence responded to his call. Disappointment threatened to rise, something he quelled immediately. He was _alive_ — no, even more than that, his wounds had been tended to and he'd been moved to a safe place. Connor didn't quite dare to examine the meaning behind Haytham's actions, but it gave him hope. Despite everything, the trust he'd put in his father hadn't been misplaced.

Connor drew a deep, albeit shaky, breath. It was time to get up and consider his next move. He made to get off the bed, when the crinkling of paper stopped him in his tracks.

There was a note tucked under the pillow.

He sat and stared at it for what felt like an eternity, before he gritted his teeth and berated himself for being a coward. He yanked the note out with more force than necessary, and read it without any more hesitation.

_You're a fool, yes, but evidently so am I. Perhaps you take after me?_

Connor took great care in folding the note and placing it in his pouch. Before, the future had been nothing but a vague notion — just something that would be, once his people were safe and his mother avenged. Now, the future contained hope.

Hope, and the prospect of having a family once more.


End file.
